


Sanguine

by taichara



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Nohr's crown prince make his moves subtly, but make them he does, because distance need not mean dispassion.





	Sanguine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



> For Kalloway, holidays 2017.

That was more than enough. Xander tasted bile at the back of his throat, though his face remained an impassive mask; a mask kept firmly in place, cold and remote, while the farce of the airing of petitions droned on and his fa- the king ignored the pleas of yet poorer weather, border raids, banditry, illness in the stony farmlands. Xander refused to acknowledge what was happening around him, any more than he chose to acknowledge Iago's self-satisfied smile as the proceedings dragged on. Let the wretch gloat. There were other ways to break his grip on the Black Kingdom's throne.

By the time the court was finally dismissed -- by the time Xander had made his own empty declarations and been, himself, summarily dismissed by Garon -- it was nearly unbearable, or would have been, if the dismissal of court was not Xander's time to put his own plans into motion. Carefully, though; always carefully. The merest flicker of one gauntleted hand set the wheels slowly turning, if -- so he felt, the tang of bile lingering -- not a hair too soon.

The need to confer with his siblings over less pressing matters bought Xander alibis at the cost of efficient use of time. Idle chatter, praise for Elise's success with her lessons, reminding Leo not to neglect his other duties pursuing some spell or judicial judgement -- all of it was both contact desperately craved and, more importantly, a window of opportunity to cover his own intention, and Xander took every advantage of it. It wouldn't do to look too interested in the affairs of his lessers ...

But when it was over, Camilla called away and the others distracted, Xander wasted no time in stalking the castle's darkened halls back to his own suite. Let there be whispers and rumours -- of blossoming appetites, or resurgent weakness ripe for the plucking -- he had work to do.

The sound of the bone and brass key breaking the enchantment of the lock was music to his ears; the thud of the heavy black oak door closing behind him was as soothing as a lullaby. And, as lullabies went ... a flicker of attention towards the catti-corner window box confirmed Laslow, stripped of court gambeson and finery and, it seemed, already snatching a nap. Well, he supposed he could hardly blame the man for being tired. Or bored. Or both. How many times had he placed Laslow under house arrest now in apparently futile effort to impose _some_ kind of proper behaviour? --

\-- But it hardly made a difference, except ... except. Except Xander had noticed ages ago that Laslow stepped up his shamelessness whenever it seemed likely to push his lord into temper, and Xander strongly suspected his retainer of some ulterior motive at this point. Yet Laslow continued to not take advantage -- so to speak -- of being forced to share his lord's living space and Xander could not for the life of him work out what that motive could otherwise _be_. So the dance continued, the stakes (for form's sake) raised a little each time, and Xander tried not to be too tempted, at times, by bared shoulder or exposed throat.

Laslow was, however, not the subject of importance right that moment. Turning away, Xander padded to his desk and its neatly-ordered ... yes, there they were, a precisely ordered stack of carefully re-folded papers placed square in the middle of the blotter, and the knife left behind as a paperweight left absolutely no question as to who it was that collected the documents. Excellent. Setting the blade aside, Xander chuckled at the image coming to mind as he opened the first of far too many missives; he could just imagine the expressions of the faces of the poor wights as their requests came to be recorded.

-*-

Two marks of the candle later and at last he was nearing the end of the pile. Xander was sorely tempted to sigh; instead he poured a second goblet and this time drained a third of it in one draft, the coppery tang under the sweetness of the wine far more satisfying than the liquor itself. Resolved, he bent his head to the last document remaining: a need for grain, so simple and yet such a desperate plea. Swift checks of the ledger resting at his left gave him a tally and he jotted down swift notes in his personal cipher of barley and rye, filled out another letter of requisition, melted wax, sealed the command tightly. The last one.

The wax glistened like congealing blood as it hardened and Xander reflected on how very suitable that image was: the common people did bleed, didn't they, in so many different ways and for so many different reasons, and far be it for he -- prince, dire of bloodline, scion of darkness, held apart -- to presume to understand those pains. But he could interfere with the fates of at least those he heard tell of, even if he could not lift the yoke from his people's collective neck. Not yet. Until his own chains of blood and fealty were broken he was as helpless as the serfs in the fields -- if he rebelled openly. But this, now --

Finished. Finally. Draining the last of the wine, Xander strode towards the window box.

"Laslow."

Instantly awake. Good. In answer to the question already forming in Laslow's eyes, he gestured to the desk and its burden of missives, of sealed commands and a heavy purse.

"I have duties for you to carry out for me in the city. Do _not_ allow yourself to be sidetracked, and do not be loud about this --"

But, ah, there clearly was no need for either warning, not from that sudden sharp spark of interest and the calm acceptance in Laslow's voice as he murmured affirmation. Even better. Xander permitted himself a slight smile -- the relaxing of a mask -- and issued further instructions.

Perhaps it was only a small thing in the end, but Xander would would not see his people being bled dry.


End file.
